Page 47 of Pretty Broken Things

Tessa looks at me with a sorrowful expression on her face, but she doesn’t say anything to dispute what he’s saying.

“Tess?” I ask.

She turns away from me and focuses on her dad. He sneers at her. “You went back on your word, Contessa, you know what this means.”

I can hear her breathing speed up, and her eyes are wild and flicking back and forth. “You can’t do that. Just—just let him leave. We won’t see each other again.”

The resignation in her tone, the total acceptance that this is the end of us, guts me. I don’t know what he’s holding over her head, but she’s ready to throw us away without a fight. I want to be understanding to whatever it is she’s holding from me, but I’m pissed. What we have should be worth putting up a fight.

Then there’s my mother. For years I’ve forgiven her for making excuses for my father, and now here she is accepting the judgment of another man before she is willing to take my side. I can see it on her face.

“I’m sorry, Ford, you can’t stay here,” she mutters, then looks to Wendell for his approval.

Reaching over the side of the bed I manage to locate my boxers and slip them on under the covers. “Lose my number, Mother. I’m done always accepting last place. You have never stood up for me, and I’m done giving up everything for you.”

I throw off the covers and put on the rest of my clothes. In my room I grab a spare gym bag and toss as much of my stuff into it as I can. I’ve got more things here than I ever intended. Stupidly I trusted Tessa. This is what I get for trusting anyone more than myself.

She doesn’t stop me on my way out, and my mother is softly crying into Wendell’s chest. Typical, as usual all of the people who are supposed to give a shit about me are more concerned with themselves.

On my way out to my truck I call Shane. He answers after the third ring, even though he was just as tired as me when we left the game. That’s what happens when life teaches you that you need to always be on alert.

“This better be important,” he growls into the phone.

“Things went south here. Tessa’s dad caught us in bed and I’ve been kicked out.”

He exhales. “Shit, man. You can take the floor in my room at my grandparents’ house. If my bed wasn’t a twin I’d share, but I don’t want to cuddle you that much.”

“Yeah, I don’t care to wake up with your boner poking me in the ass,” I reply. “Man, there’s not enough room on your floor for me.”

“Maybe there would be if you weren’t a fucking giant,” he teases.

“You’re only a couple inches shorter than I am,” I remind him.

He chuckles quietly. “Well, those two inches make a big difference sometimes. I’m sorry Ford, but the clubhouse had a minor fire. I’m helping my grandpa pull the drywall down tomorrow so we can find the wiring issue and fix it. There’s too big of a risk to stay in there. You could crash on the couch.”

“The one your grandma has had covered in plastic since the early eighties? No thanks.”

“What are you going to do?” he asks. I detect a tone of worry in his voice, probably because he knows what my answer is going to be.

“I’ll crash at the trailer tonight. It’s one night and I can come and help you and your grandpa fix the clubhouse tomorrow. It’ll be fine, Shane.”

“Ford, your dad isn’t in jail. I don’t think this is a good idea. He’s going to be pissed at you for getting in between him and your mom.”

“He’s a weak drunk. I can take care of myself.”

“Lock your bedroom door,” he urges.

“I always do.” We hang up, and I go back to the one place I had hoped to avoid for the rest of my life.

* * *

No one ishome when I let myself in, so I’m able to go straight to bed. I turn the lock on my door, and engage the chain. It’s not the best lock combination, but considering my father is usually stumbling drunk I believe they’ll hold.

If I thought I was tired after the game, I’m fucking wasted now. I don’t even get my jeans off when I fall into bed. I just pull the cover over myself and pass out.

Normally I’m a pretty light sleeper, but everyone has a limit. Noises slip into my dreams. The battering of something against my door and the snap of something metal incorporate seamlessly into my usual nightmares. All of them involve my father taking out his anger over his pathetic existence.

Slowly I become aware I’m not alone, but the exhaustion won’t release me. Warnings buzz in the back of my brain, but this time I’ve pushed my body too far, fought sleep for too long. It’s been two weeks of emotional stress with Tessa and pushing my body to the limits on the field. I might as well have taken sleeping pills because I can’t seem to force myself awake.

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